Rebecca Zanetti - Sweet Revenge

She looked up, way up, toward his face. “Um—”

He tried to smile. “I won’t hurt you.” Yeah, right. He was at least a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than her, found bleeding in her alley. All he needed was duct tape and a ski mask to be a bigger threat to somebody so small.

“Right.” She swallowed and shook her arm free. “You’re harmless. Anybody could see that.” She stepped back, her gaze darting around.

Damn, she was cute. He assessed her, figuring out how to get an invite inside so he could use the phone. With a harmless shrug, he tilted his head toward his motorcycle. “I’ll just get on and leave you alone. Sorry to scare you.”

“I reacted before thinking.” She frowned and rubbed her forehead as she studied the bike. “Did you fall?”

“Yes,” he lied smoothly. “Hit a pothole and basically landed on my head. I was tired and not watching the road.”

Indecision crossed her classic face. She leaned forward to eye the tattoo on his arm. “You were in the marines?”

“Yes.” Yet another lie. He’d been undercover as a U.S. Marshal, then as a marine, and the tat was temporary.

“Oh.” She exhaled. “My brother was a marine.”

“Was?”

“Yes. He didn’t make it home.”

Matt’s chest thumped. Hard. “I lost a brother, too.” Finally, a truth he could give her. “Hurts like hell and always will.” Five years ago, he and his brothers had escaped the military camp in which they’d been raised, but they’d never found freedom. Not completely. In searching for freedom, they’d been on missions. It was Matt’s fault Jory had died two years ago, and Matt had been paying for it ever since.

Besides, he’d broken the one promise he’d always made. Jory had died alone. All alone. For that, Matt would never be whole again. The pain gripped his heart, and he gritted his teeth to keep his expression calm.

Some souls were meant to be damned, and he deserved the agony of hellfire.

The woman sighed, resigned wariness filling her eyes. “Well, I can’t leave an ex-marine in the alley. Come in and we can get you cleaned up, but if you’re injured too badly, I’m calling an ambulance.” She levered under his arm, her slender shoulders straightening to assist him.

Intrigue and an odd irritation filtered through him. “You shouldn’t help strange men, sweetheart.”

“All men are strange.” The grin she flipped him warmed him in places he thought would always be frozen. “Besides, I’m armed.”

There wasn’t a place for a weapon in her little yoga outfit. He nodded anyway, pleased to be getting indoors. “Okay. Then I’ll behave.” Perhaps he should let her call for medical help, considering he was in town to find a doctor. The woman he’d been hunting the last five years. But he wanted to be on his game when he found the bitch. “What about Eugene?”

Matt’s rescuer bit her lip. “I’m sure he’ll be along shortly.”

Who the hell was Eugene and what kind of a threat would he pose? Matt tuned in his senses but failed to hear any footsteps. A couple argued several blocks away about who should drive home. They both slurred their words, so neither should drive. For now, Eugene was absent, and Matt needed to get inside and call his brothers.

He released the woman and forced his feet to move toward his bike. He’d lost too much blood. “Do you mind if I park my bike inside? I’d hate for anybody to steal my baby.”

She chuckled. “In Charmed, Idaho? Nobody will take your big motorcycle.” Yet she opened the doorway wide. “You can park inside to the left.”

He rolled the bike inside an organized storage room holding toiletries and cleaning supplies. “What’s your name?”

“Laney Jacobs.” She locked the door and gestured him toward another doorway. “Let’s get you an aspirin.”

He stalked through another storage room that held all types of alcohol and into a closed bar. A sports bar with wide-screen TVs, pool tables, and dartboards. He glanced down. “You work at a bar?” He’d figured her for a yoga instructor or a teacher. Not a barmaid.

She gently pushed him onto a wooden chair by a worn table. “I own a bar.” Her pretty pink lips turned down as she glanced at his demolished T-shirt.

“Oh.” He frowned. The woman was much too delicate to be closing a bar by herself. Whoever the hell Eugene was, he needed a beating for leaving her alone at night like this. “By yourself?”

She lifted a shoulder while walking behind the bar and returning with a first-aid kit. “My brother and I owned it together.” Her eyes remained down.

He understood that kind of sorrow. “I’m sorry, Laney.”

She blinked and met his gaze with those amazing green eyes. “Me, too.” Taking a deep breath, she straightened. “Let’s see what you did to yourself.”

He gingerly tugged off his shirt.

Her cheeks paled from rosy to stark white in seconds. Emeralds shimmered when her eyes opened wide. “You’re really bleeding.” Her eyelids fluttered, and she swayed.

He caught her one-handed before she hit the floor in a dead faint.

What the hell?

Easily picking her up, he glanced around the bar. The booths were circular at an odd angle, and the chairs were hard. He could either place her on the bar or on a pool table. Gently, he laid her on a pool table, warmed by how nicely she fit against him. Indulging himself, he removed her hair clip so it wouldn’t poke her and allowed the curls to tumble free.

She was pretty, and she was sweet, and no way in hell should he be touching her. Her kindness in asking him inside had been without any ulterior motive, and that just confused him. Even so, he ran a knuckle down the smooth skin on her face. The softness mellowed something new inside him.

He’d been without a woman much too long.

Now was not the time. Yet he couldn’t help taking a moment to appreciate her classic features. Delicate and soft women were a mystery to him and something he’d only seen on television. He believed they existed but definitely steered clear.

This one? This one needed protection, and he’d have a nice talk with Eugene when the bastard finally showed up.

For now, he’d lost enough blood. Flipping open the lid of the medicine kit, he frowned. Not what he needed.

Prowling behind the bar, he searched the low shelves. Aha. A rusty tackle box rested in the back. Inside, he found thick fishing line and flies with hooks. Bending one, he poured whiskey over it to kill germs and threaded it like a needle. He took a swig of the alcohol, allowing the potent brew to slam into his gut and center him.

Minutes later, he’d successfully sutured both wounds. The one on his upper chest took twice as long as the wide gash along his ribs. The guy who’d stabbed him knew how to use a blade.

So did he.

He glanced at the stunning woman on the pool table. How long did a fainting spell last, anyway? The phone behind the bar caught his attention. He slapped sterile pads across his wounds and reached for the phone to dial in a series of numbers while peeking into a tidy office behind the bar. A second doorway revealed a modern kitchen.

“Swippy’s Pool Hall,” a man answered.

“Deranged Duck 27650,” Matt said.

Several beeps echoed across the line as it was secured. Finally, silence ensued.

“Where the hell are you?” his brother growled.

Matt wiped a hand down his face. Shane sounded worried. “I’m in place. Had some trouble in Texas, however.”

“What kind of trouble?” Shane asked, computer keys clacking in the background.

“Jumped by four men—well trained. They found me in Dallas as I was heading out here.” How had the commander found him in Texas? He’d been there only a week, to gather intel on the woman he’d been searching for. After helping his brothers to escape the commander five years ago, Matt had set out to find the doctor who’d implanted deadly chips near their spines—chips that would explode in several weeks, killing them. It had taken this long to track her down, but he was close. He could feel it.